They Call It A Peaceful Place
by Bony Hearts
Summary: The number of Guides in the society is low after the Continents War. Some Guides accept their submissive fate, but others do not. They mingle among other civilians, hiding away from eyes and ears of the Towers. While the Towers have put into action The Hunts for unregistered Guides. Sentinel Bonding AU. Hiding Guide!Arthur, Dark Sentinel!Alfred
1. Author's note

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

So this is a Sentinel Bonding fic, set in an Alternative Universe where Sentinels and Guides are known. [This verse is originally created by Susan Foster, you can go read her series for more detailed information about it: www 'dot' susans-stories 'dot' co 'dot' uk/primer. Or if you want to understand more about the Sentinel and Guide troupe, then visit this: fanlore 'dot' org/wiki/Sentinel_and_Guide ]

But I will give y'all a quick sum-up. And any other details will be clear on the story's context so fear not if you're not accustomed with the Sentinel Bonding Verse.

Basically Sentinels are people with five enhanced senses. Sentinels who concentrated on one sense could become so focused that they lost their grounding to their surrounding and entered a state that resembled catatonia. Without a stable focus, as the sentinel's senses became more sensitive, sensory input could overload them; driving them to insanity or even to a final zone-out which ended in death. A solution to be found in the "guide" - companions who helped them focus their senses and pulled them out of zones.

Guides are people having emphatic power. They can sense the emotional and physical needs of their sentinels, support the sentinel's use of his senses and prevent zoning. As their empathic potential goes, they can sense the emotions/thoughts/state of minds of everyone around, and that can become overwhelming just as Sentinels do with their heightened senses. So Guides naturally have mental barriers to protect their minds from others' feelings. The strength of those barrier depends on each Guide individually and their state of bonding.

When the sentinel/guide bonding has taken place, the guide's empathy comes fully on line; his or her natural ability to create barriers to protect himself or herself from the emotions of the people around them is weakened. Guides can be parted from their sentinels for periods of time, the length of which depends on the strength of the individual guide, however prolonged periods of separation causes attrition of the natural barriers, leaving them emotionally exposed. The end result is a guide driven to insanity, often to suicide. But that is just one side of the matter (others will be explored in the story).

Moreover, Sentinel have an instinct of protecting and sheltering Guides as well as Guides contain urges of taking care of Sentinels.

I will not base fully the set of the universe of this fic on the origin, there will be some fanons and mix-up to suit the plot line.

This fic will start in the scene where the amount of Guides in the society is low after a war between continents. Some Guides accept their submissive fate, but others do not. They mingle among other civilians, hiding away from eyes and ears of the Towers - headquarters of Sentinels and Guides Organization on every country in the world. Therefore the Towers have put into action a hunt for unregistered Guides.

Also every Sentinel and Guide in here have their own spirit animals that only Sentinels and Guides can see. (Kind of like His Dark Material :D)

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, from the verse to the characters (except for those minor OOCs). There's no profit made in this, just a production from a fan to other fans. Places or organizations or occurances in this are all fictional.

**Warning:** Mentioned sexual and physical and mental assaults, violence, abuse, implied slavery, underage, forced bonding, unusual childhood, trafficking,...

This fic is not beta'd, any mistakes and typos are solely mine.

And that's it. If you still feel interested, then onward with the story!


	2. Prologue

**Prologue.**

* * *

That day Arthur, seven years of age and chubby cheeks red from the cold, went out to collect some wood. Their house settled on the verge of the town, near the vast, intimidating pine forest that was much livelier and more amicably beautiful in springs. Snow covered the land, white and infinite and frigid.

His thick small boots left feet-shaped hole along the path he marvelled, his ears straining to hear any sound of movement. Here there was no wolves or bears, but the silence made the boy twisty and a little cold at the spine. He kept looking behind his back, checking the way he had gone and made sure he wouldn't be lost returning. It was a familiar task to him, but every venture didn't lessen his nerve or alert. They said the mind of a kid was wondrously imaginative, and Arthur was very much so. He looked at the world with different vision through his big, innocent jaded eyes. The pictures in his head were always more colorful and livelier and flooded with un-found wonders.

So as Arthur picked up another branch into his embrace of wood, he saw the pine trees as tall and dark figures of secret and threat maybe, rustling sounds were the breaths, whispers and footsteps of mysterious creatures and beings lurking behind shadows, out of sight and ear-range. And perhaps the path he was walking was a road that led to some adventures or other worlds.

The boy giggled with his thought, a tingle and pure sound float through the quiet forest, tenderly wavered the sleep of nature. Deeming the woods in his hands would be enough, Arthur turned around and decided to head back home; the promise of a solid, safe and predictable space of his house, the warm glow from the small stone fireplace and hot bowl of soup from Aunt Helen made his steps hurry, bouncing with expectation and excitement. Many layers of clothing caused it heavy to run but the energy of his was flowing and plenty. He huffed out smoky white breaths and laughed when he racked through the hazes as he raced.

There suddenly was a loud thud and Arthur stopped in his track. It wasn't enough for him to be fully curious though; instead, it was the whimper coming later that tugged at his curiosity and pulled him on his heels to make way finding the source of the sound.

Arthur knew Helen would scowl at his doing - wandering off-path alone in the forest. But his aunt also taught him to help people in need, especially the ones who were hurt. And the sound he had heard was definitely one of pain. Making do with his own logic and sympathetic feelings for whomever the whimper belonged to, Arthur was almost blindingly searching until he came across another clearing and found a figure laying under the shape of a pine tree.

He hurried over but stopped himself short mild-way, caution and hesitation taking over his body with Aunt Helen's careful teaching and constant precautions.

"Be careful, be careful," He whispered closely as if it was a reminder or a magical protecting spell, and braved himself to approach the figure slowly.

The figure turned out to be a man, clapped in a thick set of dark clothes and sturdy boots, a scarf made of white fur wrapping around his neck. His hair was a mess of dark brown strands, spotted with snow, his face pale and hazarded with tiredness, marred with stubble along his jaw and above his upper deep, dry lip. Dark lashes pressed tight, covering his irises and his strong brows furrowed painfully as one of his palm loosely held onto his left shoulder, which was leaving blood so bright, so real on the absolute whiteness of the snowed ground.

Arthur could feel his stomach churning with panic and worry. He knew he'd better go find his aunt or any adult for that matter, because this was certainly out of his capability. But there were something deep down inside telling him not to leave, clinging insistently at his gut, making him stay and help. On his own.

He risked taking a few more steps until he was right at the man's feet. He abandoned the collection of branches on the snow, holding his breath and reaching out.

A white tiger appeared out of nowhere with legs placing on either sides of the man protectively, growling and almost snapping its sharp teeth at Arthur's little hand. Arthur shrieked, clutched his hands to his chests in surprised horror and stripped, scrambling away in ringing terrified panic.

The boy found his limbs hard to move with all the shaking racking through his body, jaded eyes wide and fearful at the predator on top of the man. Arthur froze at his spot when the tiger disappeared just to immediately show up again, glaring its teeth and profound eyes right in front of his face. Arthur was rigid with fear, frozen and so overwhelming that the scream stuck in his throat became a strangled sob of terror. He grasped at the snow, willing to hold himself still but Arthur was just too scared right now.

The tiger lifted its heavy paw of sharp claws to press against Arthur's chest and push him flat down on the cold surface. Arthur was numb with deepening fear, shaking in minute jerks and sobbing softly and horrified-y with his eyes closed as the tiger sniffed him all over. He felt the warm breath of the animal when its nose touched his cheek once more and stopped the boy into complete stillness by slowly and tenderly licking away his tears.

After a moment of cautiously catching his breath, Arthur dared to open his eyes, face still dampened with tears and by the tiger's raw tongue, and stared into the clear, deeply aware hues of the white carnivore. The boy took a glimpse at its teeth again and swallowed, suddenly so tired and dazed.

"Hey," Arthur breathed out unbalanced-y to the creature, heart reducing from the wildly beating state to a soaking feeling of strange calmness and remained wariness. He didn't know how, but the tiger's gaze on him seemed to soften and the thing stepped back, getting off of him.

Surprise still buzzing in veins, Arthur gradually got up, feeling vibrated, badly ruffled and overwhelmingly relieved. He didn't take his eyes away from the tiger, except from bowing his head slightly to wipe at his face.

"You've scared me a lot," Arthur spoke in a hush tone to the tiger, which was watching him with a look of concentration and something else Arthur didn't recognize. He sniffed, body lightly quivered yet he wasn't scared anymore.

The tiger broke the eye contact and Arthur's hues moved along its gaze, resting on the unconscious profile of the man. Arthur startled, getting on his feet and coming at the man's side. He kneeled down and glanced back at the tiger, looking for permission and finding it standing next to him, using its dark nose to nudge at Arthur's shoulder as though urging. Arthur exhaled shuddered-y, turning back to the man in pain.

The blood was dried, but still too much. He honestly didn't know what to do.

He honestly should just go calling for Aunt Helen.

"I don't have any idea-" He was cut off by the soft growl of the tiger, which was sitting unmoving-y and stared hard at him. The boy gulped minutely, uneasy with the assured determination of the creature and the strangeness of the situation.

"Okay… okay," Arthur muttered, endeavoring to be steady and placing his hand on the bloodied palm of the stranger. He did not know what he was doing exactly, just depending solely on his instinct that was whispering quietly at his core, leading him.

As soon as his hand touched the skin of the other's, everything closed up and turned into darkness. Arthur gasped, feeling sucked in and having to close his eyes. Just some brief seconds later, there was something wet and warm nuzzling into his little palm and Arthur opened his emerald eyes again. He found no pine forest, just a boundless field of grass and himself standing in the middle of it with a white tiger.

The tiger moved forward, like it knew the place for certain, and maybe it did, considering the way it looking back at him as though to make sure if he would follow and beginning leading him through the field, under a sky that felt like a pale haze of illusion.

The venture was stopped when they spotted the man - who should be lying on the ground and grimacing with pain even in his unconsciousness - standing among the field with his eyes close, rid of painful expression and blood.

They advanced and were now at his side, the tiger circling around the man legs, and nuzzling into him a few times, yet the man appeared to be unaffected. The tiger locked eyes at Arthur one more time and the boy followed his gut. He reached out his hand, and hold onto the man's one. "Please wake up," he said and instantly felt a tug, in his mind, between them, like a connection.

Arthur clenched his eyes shut, holding onto that connection and pulling. A force so strong that his mind almost bloomed with exploding whiteness, fear crawling at his every fiber, yet he kept tugging, never letting go, because the powerful need and rightness of doing so was just as intense.

He felt the space he was currently in shifting, as if whirling itself from existence. A breathless choking gasp resounded just above his head, and Arthur widened his irises back into reality. And there they were, in a clearing of a forest whitened and withered by winter nature, Arthur kneeling, locking eyes with a pair of startling pale smoky blue hues of the wounded man. The boy felt his mind spinning, restless and a little afraid. The tiger was still somewhere near, Arthur seemed to be able to acknowledge its presence always.

None of them budged, stillness a warning for something much more bizarre afterwards. Arthur didn't dare to breathe, particularly when he found himself a bit remaining-y unsettled and dizzy. His small hand braced tightly onto one of the man's side, while the other retreated to his chest, stained with dry blood from its previous injured placing position. The strange man was capturing Arthur with his throughout gaze and striking orbs, looking at him like the boy was something incredible, precious and surprising.

Arthur flinched slightly as the man raised his unwounded arm to touch at Arthur's cheek softly, smelling faintly like blood, metal and wonder. "Guide…," The older man whispered, heartbreakingly and breathlessly, full of quiet wonderment and blooming desperate merriness. He used his palm to bend Arthur head down gradually and pressed his dry, cold lip to Arthur's forehead. "Guide..."

Arthur felt pain washing out from the man, mingled with regret and protective affection. Arthur wanted to ease away the pain and the desperation. He held still, heart bursting with something so foreign, wanting to clutch at and say anything back. Like,

"Sentinel."

He had no clues what that was, yet it felt so right on his tongue, so needed in his brain and beating tiny heart. He leant down for more, for much more closeness. He was frightened. But he was peaceful.

Feeling linked. Feeling making sense.

He placed his lips on the layered chest of the 'Sentinel', hearing the weakening rhythm and his arms holding on more tightly, hoping to convey calmness and peace to the other much older male. The hand at the back of his neck also tightened, as if knowing what Arthur felt, what Arthur did not know yet, before loosening.

There was a silent choke, the larger body underneath him racked with spasms and then going limp. Arthur felt the tiger moved close to them, wrapping itself right beside the man's right arm and nudging its nose at Arthur's warmed cheek one last time. Then it faded away, into nothingness.

And Arthur cried into the chests of his Sentinel.

A bond, platonic, lasted only minutes before reaching its finality – but deep and wondrous, so fast and painfully ended.

His first Sentinel died when he was merely seven, not truly knowing about the world surrounding him yet, and what frantic future awaiting him ahead.

That day he was just too suddenly lost and pained to care.


	3. Chapter 1: The Hunt

**1.**

**The Hunt**

******Chapter Summary:** Overview of The Hunt. A lonesome Dark Sentinel.

* * *

"We're at the Tower, sir."

Williams got out of the cab, paying and thanking the driver, then approaching the Tower's head building in Britannia. There were no guards at the big, ironed gate but Williams knew every of his movement was closely watched, his heartbeat heard and his intentions read. Hell, this building, like every of the Tower, was full of heightened Sentinels and openly emphatic Guides; considering his gut had not been peeled apart or his mind was still intact, Williams deemed it as a relief and encouragement to his current entrance at the Tower.

He'd thought of sending some of his inferiors to do the task, but that was selfish and irresponsible of him, and it was somewhat partly personal so he decided to finally, truly pay the Tower a visit to his brother while doing some talks and negotiations with the higher-up Sentinels.

As a man of law and working for the Government, Detective Inspector Matthew Williams, had every right to hold high his head, striking into dangers and in control. But the Tower was a different division, a completely foreign standard about ranking and power and righteousness. He could deal with crimes, villains, and severity, albeit facing the Sentinel-and-Guide material was his stepping into strange water. He of course would not back down from challenge and difficulty, but darn if he wasn't trying to be cautious and daedal-y handling the matter.

It had been a buzzing and heated issue lately, the thing about Guide's Right and their supporters and The Hunt. That's it. Two decades passed after the Continents War, not only did a severe consequence leave the number of Guides lessening alarmingly, down to solely twelve percent out of world population, but also the realization of Guide's Right was awaken and demanding. While public went on strike for Guides, Sentinels and the Tower too went rigid for them, forming groups and then a whole force hunting for every unregistered Guides. Lands were still fresh with unhealed wounds and war terrors, people raged with new knowledge and needs and wants and civilization, enhanced super soldiers howling and crying and infuriated for their lost empaths, and looming Tower fighting to gain back its benefits, rules and balance; all mixed up and made out a huge bizarre and frantic period of a century.

Every time there was a Guide brought back to the Tower and made 'willingly' bonded, the police forces would have to give their hands before public and the Tower dived their heads deep into conflict and broke out something equaling a civil war. The Police Force of Britannia couldn't betray their civilians, nor could they turn round and bite at the Tower of the Government. They now stood in the middle of inconsistency, playing barrier and hold-off with a difficult position of dangerous neutrality. Always on the hooks.

So as a member of the Britannia Police Force, Williams didn't have a good regard of the Tower and their policy. And now as he reached the intimidating main front entrance of the Tower's head building, two giants of Sentinels observing him from head to toe as though they would eliminate him immediately if he made one or two wrong moves; DI Williams really hoped everything would end well.

He showed the guards his badge and a man – dressed in plain, neat clothes, hair not a strand unkempt, wearing gloves and soft clothed shoe with white socks and absolutely silent with thin lined mouth – led him to an isolated room, where his grey trench coat was taken along with his gun and cuffs, except for the confidential folder in his hand. He put on an uncharacteristic white gown made of soft cotton and replaced his lightly muddy leather black shoes with a pair similar to the one of the guiding man.

The man checked William's hair, and for some brief minutes he had tended to ask where the damned bathroom was and he would gladly scrub pink his skin just to be sure and secure enough.

As if he had all day and patience for it.

The years of police work had strengthened his tolerance, but it made his patience and logic and belief a sharp and stonily hard thing. It put his practicality and efficiency ahead, a sturdy wall against all odds and nonsense. Twenty years ago, if asked, he wouldn't believe what made of him right now, all beating people's expectation about a country boy who was so silent and caring.

But he wasn't ashamed of his younger self, because people changed, for better or for worse. The matter thing was the real nature resting at each person's core, defining themselves even in the muddiest situation.

And his world at his thirty first year had turn much more gray rather than black and white, seeing too much and would be to see more.

Hiding his relief in a quiet clearance of the throat as they exited the room and strolled down the hall, the DI took his time to observe the place and if his brain tried to memorize all the paths and corridors, it was his constant instinct and habit of his working years. It would come to be handful some other times.

The building was heavily structured with stones, looking rather closed-off and hard and there was a dark edge over the space even when the light in here was enough to brighten the whole city. But it was a special kind of lights, the guiding man had introduced, to be suitable with the conditions of the Sentinels residing here, considering their senses were much more sensible and attentive, couldn't risk a total bunch of ruffled Sentinels, could we?

Williams just hummed absently and necessarily, feeling a bit more unsettled, because it was like they were talking about a pack of wild animals, not mentioning damaged here and there and always on the verge of going rabid and getting removed. It set the morality and righteousness in him on edge, a hot anger blazing faintly but clearly under his spines and behind his eyes. A coldly heated and sure feeling and pressure coiled in every contour of his hands.

He might not like what the Tower did, might be uneasy with those enhanced soldiers, but Sentinels were all humans in their natural rights, not treated as tools or ticking bombs and feral beasts. His brother was a Sentinel, too, and Williams had all the proof to believe and understand his belief. Of course there were bastards, but which society did not have bastards in it? A crude question, indeed, yet honest and practical one.

Williams inwardly sighed and glanced around without being obvious and out of place. Sentinels flooded the place in their pale sandy and military uniforms with the darkest- blued symbol of the Tower on the right sleeves, in front of their left breast pockets were badges that catalogued ranks among the Sentinels. So far all he'd seen was deep green and wined red, sometimes dark blue when some high Sentinel officials went over for a brief talk and pointed, meaningful looks, considering tonight The Hunt would take place.

But he just gave them a straight and stony face, promising nothing and just being political.

They passed a training ground, some eating areas, classes, offices, and too many stairs to count. There were also bonded Guides trailing along with their Sentinels in their usual faded-yellowed clothes, looking warm and submissive. But they weren't around much like some decades back in the past, just remaining in a low number now, even in the Tower. Not a few times he caught some longing and sorrowful glances of unbonded Sentinels at the Guides, like they were something precious and out of hand, which might be currently true. Those glances had Williams look away briskly before the conflict in him became clear. He could still hear the enraged and urging demands of the citizens and even Guides about rights that hadn't been archived yet; but the looks of Sentinels sending Guides and the intense need were almost overwhelming, and the bonds they shared seemed unworldly and heartbreakingly unbreakable, so co-dependent and insistent.

Williams often found his heart aching and head hurt thinking over the matter. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to Sentinels and Guides themselves. He thought of his brother, the incomplete space next to him and the increasing zone-out dangers without a constant and truly effective solution. William knew the deep hollowness hidden and restrained so well in his brother lesseningly bright eyes, knowing the edgy and snappy behaviors lately - as if everything burnt and pushed him even more over the edge. And Williams knew the drowning and waiting fear settling in the pit of his stomach when his brother kept lengthening the minutes he zoning out, lost to the real world and giving in to his senses.

Williams would prayed, and it seemed it was the only prayer he made nowadays since his first step into the police force, that Alfred would be back each time.

The guiding man halted at a hard metal door at the end of a hall on the ground floor after their general venture around the building. The man opened it and they were led down by another long set of stairs until they were at an open door to a large, underground lab.

The lab was covered in wires, machines, chemicals, and notes, soaked in the bright special lights that were for Sentinels, cold but well inhabited. There was no scientists though, despite its crowded and disordered look, except for a man in Sentinel uniform dedicating his attention to a delicate average-sized monster of a machine.

But knowing the man so well that Williams did, the DI didn't mind and dismissed his guiding 'company'. After some hesitating words and nervous glances from the guiding male and a hasty retreat of said man under Williams' commanding and no-nonsense eyes, Williams approached the only Sentinel in the lab.

"Hi, brother. Not even bother greeting and welcoming me to your confidential lab, Alfred?"

"I heard your specified footsteps and smelled your soap the instance you stepped into the Tower, no one having a pair of so battered and well-kept shoes; they made quite a distinctive sound, I tell you. You can keep it as a signal for your presence, even when it belittles your taste of fashion," Alfred wrinkled his nose over the word 'fashion' as if it personally offended him, not looking up from his checking up the control wheel.

"My shoes are fine, thank you. Like you're the one to talk over your distasteful, colorless shirts. At least my shoes are sturdy and fit for running after criminals."

"Humh, I must admit the one who chooses this present for your birthday is quite thoughtful. Practical for your style of clothing, useful for your job for its comfortable material yet heavy enough to give some bad men a worthy kick," Alfred muttered, seemingly highly pleased with himself.

"Oh, stop burning your own nose, you bastard of a brother," Williams seated himself on a chair nearby, mindful not dragging it to cause any noise. "I'm not here to talk about my shoes or how thoughtful your late present is-"

"I forgot! It was just two days, you pettish, quit whining about it!"

"-I have a meeting with the Tower so I think I'd better pay you a visit too, as you've been missing from home for two whole weeks now. Just to make sure you haven't died of hunger yet because you're so lazy to make your own meals to satisfy that boundless stomach of yours."

"So you come here to harass me with your mouth and concern," Alfred snorted, wiping his hand carefully on a soft looking towel.

"No. I come to be met with Sentinel officials who ticked me off and made me want to punch someone's face so fast in my life, get my service things stripped out of me and have to dress in ridiculous clothes. Yes, of course, I come instead of sending inferiors because I have a thoughtless Sentinel of a brother who hadn't seem it necessary to announce his future missing and burying his nose in his lab, while Katsuya and I almost had a heart attack of worry."

"Quit that," his brother said with a tight look washing over his face, his eyes clenching shut as if trying to control.

"Quit what?" Part of his frustration and anger leaked out oozing-y, no matter how well fold and contained. Williams told himself not to explode right in the Tower and get both of them into trouble. But Williams was a man honest with his feelings, restrained but true. And damn if he didn't go raged with the thought that his brother was somewhere unsafe, unprotected, perhaps even getting stuck in a frenzy.

"The anger you fold deep in your gut. I can hear it as clearly as your strong heartbeat and feel the infuriated heat radiating from your skin and the angry friction of your clothes. Even if I didn't have five super senses and couldn't smell the chemicals inside your body to read your state, twenty-eight years being your brother would at least tell me so," Alfred offered briskly and frustrated-y, opening his blue eyes to glare at the DI, "I'm a capable adult and respectable, high-ranking Sentinel. I can do as I'm pleased, Mathew. You can't watch over me forever. I apologize for my thoughtlessness and your annoying concern, but stop nagging at me with your protectiveness."

The Sentinel combed his fingers through his mess of hair roughly, the strands looking like they went through fourteen days without a wash, or a proper comb for that matter. Here in the lab built under the ground, away from prying eyes, his brother let him see the heavy weight on his shoulders, the stress he insistently keeping to himself.

Williams breathed out a weary sigh, "Yes, I'm angry. And I understand. But just… you know, Alfred. Be careful."

"I love and miss your usually quiet nature in times like these, Mathew" was his grumpy response. Albeit a smirk stretched out on his brother's face, self-eccentric and outright smug.

"Hey, don't ass with your older brother."

"You're the one who barges into my lab and is an ass to me first."

This was childish, so very highly immature, but it was natural and brightened the mood, and DI Williams was not a picky type to complain over it.

"Fine. So what have kept you so occupied for all this time?" He settled comfortably into the refreshing air, not touching any weird chemicals or x-skeleton things, still remembering the explosion at his brother's lab in his house. The things burnt and the smell giving off days later was a lesson for his being thirty-one and still far too damn curious for his own good and appearance. He was scarred, or to be exact, embarrassed for life.

Alfred's grin faltered faintly, but his brother schooled his expression quickly into a carefully excited and unreadable mask. He could feel the wall his brother building up around himself, and never had Williams hated the difference between them more. Williams would never understand fully the Sentinel world of his brother, the wanton and the connection. He knew Alfred had been hiding something for so long now, since the day his eight-year-old self returned home from his recovering and first training at the Tower for a holiday. His laughter had been less pure, his smiles less true and his shoulders seeming to be carrying an invisible, incredibly heavy burden.

But Williams didn't push, he respected his brother's need for a distance and keeping secret. Though it left a feeling of disappointed mild fury and failing in his chest, like an unreachable itching ache, knotted tightly at the bottom of his heart.

"Oh, that…," Alfred stepped back, opening for him a clearer view of the machine he had been working on. It had two sturdy handles similar to those of motorcycle, but its broad front windshield and lower part were like the ones of a sidecar of a Vespa. And where the wheels should be, there were ski springs, spindles and skis. On both sides of the thing, strong long coniform-like engines attracted to it. "I spent that much time finishing this lady," Pride twisted at the lines of his face and the brightness of his eyes, Alfred's hands tenderly smoothing the polished, metal surface.

"It looks like a weird snowmobile without tracks and snow-flap. And you call it a lady?"

"Hey! Don't judge my lady through her look, you don't know what she can do."

"Okay, what can 'she' do?" Williams narrowed his eyes, looking very much challenging and doubtful.

Mirth glinted in Alfred's irises, "How about flying?"

Williams was thankful for his many years of practice and experience to keep his jaw from dropping to the ground. He would not feed to Alfred's smugness, younger brother or not, and he even hadn't seen the thing on air yet.

"You think I would believe you, Alfred? That's absurd!" The DI raised his arms, gesturing silently and meaningfully the irrationality of what his brother had notified. He watched a near pout placed itself on his brother's face as though a petulant child. Alfred was a child, Williams was sure of it.

"I mean it, Matthew. You've seen so many of my inventions so far, and is there a time when I'm failed to break the absurdity?" Alfred's voice was firm and so certain, the tone that he gathered at the depth of his throat, demanding and powerful in its surety. And whenever his brother used that tone, Williams knew nobody would be able to talk some sense to his mind or make him change his decision.

Fine.

"You know, Alfred, I'm not a believer. I just believe what I really see. And you get to prove it," The DI offered back with equaling weighed tone.

The Sentinel inhaled annoyed-y, his broad shoulders slumping down minutely, "Alright, but maybe another time. She still needs a running over and some more check-ups before I officially fly her. Then you'd better catch your jaw from falling and keep your eyes from budging out of your sockets."

Williams just smirked.

"And what do you do with it? Playing birds?"

Alfred laughed, loud and unconcerned. A nice, rumbling, deep sound that Williams hadn't recognized how much he missed it 'till he heard it again. It settled a pleasant warmth and gladness in his belly.

"No, it's for The Hunt," and with that the laughter died down, replaced with grimness and seriousness. Williams found his body tightening, and he straightened his back, shoulders hard. If people talked about Sentinels as though they were dangerous creatures, then the way Guides were treated was even lower. It made Williams well and absolutely furious.

The Hunt had always been a sensitive subject.

"What's for?" He asked coolly and very self-possessed-y.

Alfred stood tall, he seeming to be larger and broader, his face stony and deadly serious. There was an un-seen barrier sketched out between them, separating and compact. No matter what Williams did or however hard he tried to tear and push, he could not erase it.

"We try to keep The Hunt as quiet as possible, really can't have a troupe of Sentinels march into the city searching for Guides. The citizens are still unsettled with all the happenstance of the Continents Wars, and considering the situation as of now, we don't want to pour more oil into the conflicting fire. And if we outright announced and effectuated The Hunt in public, the hiding Guides would be convulsed and endeavor to flee before we could catch them."

"And flying seems to be the best option?"

"Yes, cars or horses will be too obvious, and far from efficiency in some limited spaces. While using new flying machines that ain't planes, we can have a clear view of the city, more accesses to narrow places similar to valleys and wider seeking range of senses and connections with our spirit animals. Not to mention we can be less conspicuous and catch our targets off guard."

Alfred said it all in one breath, an eerily rigid stillness possessing his every fiber of being. He stared straight into Williams, watching and waiting. Bracing. Williams very much desired to pinch his nose painfully, as if the action would get rid of the hot anger in his blood and the headache eating at his brain.

"Don't look at me like that, brother. I'm not judging you, but you of all people should know I honestly, really, don't like what you Sentinels and the Tower are doing. All the hunting thing makes those poor Guides look like a herd of cornered animals," Williams rubbed his face tiredly, "They deserve much better, Alfred. Hell, all Sentinels and Guides deserve much better than walking as governmental tools and alienated people."

Alfred's Adam apple's bobbed lightly, the frown carved into his skin deep and hard. No one would think Alfred was a controlling kind of person, not only to others but to himself as well. He was like a nuclear box, a well-covered incredible power beneath all the cheerful and easy-going appearance. His brother always made others taken aback whenever the true, deep and dark side of his was revealed. But Alfred never forgot his strength or pretended not to acknowledge his power. He guarded and treated it with great caution and consideration, especially when other people's lives were on the line.

Perhaps it explained how Alfred could reach to such a high rank at such a young age. Not that he doubted his brother ability, DI Williams just had questions that were hard to avoid and hadn't had an proper answer to.

Like how the badge on his brother's left breast pocket was the unique darkest black. Like how the officials of the Tower and other Sentinels seemed to be unpretentious to his brother, careful of what they said and how they did something. They never waited for his commands; they saw them in his striking eyes or maybe even sense them before he had to bark them out. If Guides were usually submissive around Sentinels, then around Alfred, they seemed much more timid.

That and the plus point of Alfred's constantly-there hidden truth made Williams want to roar in frustration and corner his brother for a good answer to lessen the itch.

But William trusted his brother, trusting Alfred would talk about it when the time came.

Or so he hoped.

"I don't like this any better, Mathew. Or I wish to do this. But if the Guides willingly registered themselves, we wouldn't have to carry out the strong measures. We've used propaganda and socialist education also, but it's not working well," Alfred sighed.

"But you Sentinels think for the first time why do those Guides do what they do! Why do they choose to hide in the first place, Alfred? They are human beings, they have lives and they have their own decision. They hide because they fear all those precious things will be rid from them. They hide because they fear the life of being submissive forever, never getting to say their opinions, treated like some kind of second-classed citizens or worse. Think about it, Alfred, that if Guides sure have rational minds in themselves, do they really want to give up their freedom for near imprisonment? So of course they hide, Sentinel!"

"It's not imprisonment!" Alfred slammed his fist onto the nearest table, and Williams didn't even blink once, "How can you think us Sentinels can hurt them? That we heartlessly treat them like dirt? A whimper or even a cringe of discomfort from Guides made Sentinels enraged and try to protect and comfort them. They are precious, Matthew. And we Sentinels need them."

Every heaved-out breath from Alfred's mouth was like a struggle, his eyes so bright and so honest. It burned and dug hole into the hearts of the seeing ones with a great fearfulness and wary.

"Ever since Hitler proceeded his X-Guide Stratagem, thousands of Guides were killed and disappeared. Now two-whole-decade time passed after the end of that blasted, disastrous war, Guides appear less and less. And a significant amount of the remained spends their lives hiding! I respect their own needs, and I accept the fact they choose to hide," The Sentinel closed his eyes once more, "But Sentinels are dying too, older brother."

It sounded so unbalanced, a breathless quake concealed so strongly and well-practiced-y that it was hard to catch. Williams was badly ruffled now, for he had never foreseen what direction this conversation would lead, what else things his brother would let him see. All Williams could touch was just the surface, so many hidden issues, so many un-told fear and secrets, so strained the conviction between them now, and so fragile the truth.

Williams felt drowned, out of his element for the first time in a very long time.

And having summoned whatever strength that had always rested inside of him, Alfred went on, not a single muscle relaxed, yet more certain and firmer, "Without Guides, Sentinels will face higher dangerous zone-out probabilities. We can't perform our gifted senses to the best of capability because we can't risk being too caught up with overwhelming senses and losing focus. It will leave us overloaded, and if the times of zone-outs are more often, that load will be more un-containable, driving Sentinels to insanity and finally death."

Williams knew that, Williams knew so well, but however many times he was told about it, it was never less terrifying. Though he endeavored to be calm, since Alfred didn't need any more pressure.

"It's my duty, Matthew. I will do what needs to be done. It's for the best, regardless of what you and I may think of it," Alfred informed with a finality in his voice, no arguments.

"But there are other Sentinels, why it must always be you in charge, Alfred-" The DI was cut short as his brother raised his palm up, his cerulean eyes glinting and stern. Alfred turned fully to face him, posture completely military straight and broad; he was now the very image of a powerful Sentinel that he truly was.

"You see my badge, Matthew?"

There was a lump in his throat, but Williams denied it. A horrified twitch coiled in his stomach. He always hoped Alfred would not get too involved, that Alfred would have a normal life, archiving a normal happiness despite the fact that he was a Sentinel.

It seemed he had been so very wrong.

"Not any of those badges you've seen in your life is like this, yes older brother?" Alfred pressed his fingers to his pitch-black badge, "Unless you go abroad and demand other Towers to show their only black badge.

Have you considered why other Sentinels are so respectful to me? Why those officials are so obedient? Why they give a normal Sentinel so many privileges? Look at this huge lab, brother, dozens of other scientists have to work together in the other side of the Tower while I have this whole lab to myself."

The edge of Alfred lips was cruelly bitter and strong, and Williams held all his breath just to listen, feeling like every word was poison, "My strength, my talent and power, Matthew, it all has reason.

I'm a **Dark Sentinel**, the leader of Sentinels and Guides."

Alfred's face was unreadable, an air of superior now so clear around his brother. Williams fisted his hands, bracing himself from all of this sudden information. The DI felt nauseated, a cold numbness and tired fury set in every surface of his skin. Too much.

Why hadn't he thought of that before? He had heard about Dark Sentinels – the head Sentinels of every tribe, territory or country.

And why now?

"Why now, Alfred? You've kept your lips tight for who know how damn long. So why do you tell me all of that right now?" Williams had thought he wanted an answer himself, never realizing how it would hurt him bad, leaving him so angry and confused.

There was an inward sigh, "I haven't intended to tell you, Mathew. The less you know, the better. I really don't want to burden you with this."

"What are you talking –" The DI's retort was cut off as Alfred suddenly stilled himself. The Sentinel leant his neck upward slightly, eyes flashing.

Like he was communicating.

"Okay, brother," Alfred broke the silence minutes later, and Williams let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, watching his brother putting on his dark coat and walking pass him briskly, "Conversation ends."

It took the DI a few second to register the situation and when he bolted out of his seat, Alfred had been well up all the stairs and disappear.

Damn Sentinels and their inhuman speed.

* * *

Alfred strode fast along the pristine hall, hearing his older brother's multiple curses down at the underground lab and the rush of the DI's blood and his banging around. The Dark Sentinel ignored them, but did grimace at the future inevitable state of his lab. When Matthew was throwing a fit, it would be rather nasty.

He noticed the older man ran up the stairs now, yet not bothering being worried about it. He stretched out his range, calling some Sentinel guards to enclosure his brother at the upper door and escort the pissed-off, protesting inspector safely out of the Tower and back at his station.

He knew he would have a field day with his brother later, albeit he now had a more important matter at hand.

He extended his connection, giving a "Round up!" demand for all the Sentinels in the building as he didn't once slow his steps.

When the Dark Sentinel made it up to the eighth floor, a voice called out to him, "Dark Sentinel, sir!"

He halted just briefly for the owner of the voice to catch up and then continued his walk. "What's the matter, Guide Laurinaitis? And don't call me 'sir', Toris. It makes me feel cranky and too formal. 'Alfred' will be fine."

Guide Laurinaitis was a young man with plain face, the brown shoulder-length hair of his making his feature softer and friendlier, while his eyes were a mixture of pale green and smoky blue, always warm and welcoming. Seeing his smile and his agility in spite of his nervous nature, nobody would have thought the Dark Sentinel had found him tortured in a dirty brothel among other illegally trafficked Guides.

Trafficking Guides was not unusual, considering they were regarded as high-priced goods in the black market, the rare gems in bawds for rich lusty customers who craved for new, extraordinary things. Before the wars occurred, when the Guides population hadn't been scathed, those trafficking lines were Guides' nightmares and Sentinels' disgusted fury, and the police forces still hadn't had an effective method to prevent them thoroughly. But after the Continents War ended with the final signatures of all belligerent countries, the decrease of Guides' digits loomed over the Towers and Governments like a new darkness, an infectious wound to all components, leading them to put a tight rein over Sentinels and especially surviving Guides.

However, the war had devastated so many lands, people scattered away from their home, going for refuges. So it was difficult to find Guides in that chaotic period, particularly if Guides didn't seek for the Towers' sheltering wings. As a result, some Guides lost their ways and fell into the hands of trafficking lords, living a defiled life then on.

At the time on which the Tower discovered the trafficking line and brothel that Guide Laurinaitis was one of the victims, Alfred was merely nineteen, and didn't hesitate to lock himself up alone with the owner as well as leader of the trafficking organization in his own office. He hadn't been concerned about the crude's escaping, because the first two minutes after disarming the criminal, the Sentinel spent twisting all of the guy's limbs into odd angles, making sure in those one-hundred-and-twenty seconds the guy felt clearly every horrifying twitch of his muscles and couldn't do anything. Not even scream, for Alfred had cut the vocal cord of the man.

When the police finally arrived and handled the matter for the Sentinels of the Tower, the owner had become a deformation of broken bones and silent terror, but still alive. Alive to feel all the pains he had dared to inflict on those poor, helpless Guides, bleeding out slowly and choking on his own bile for all the blood and terrified screams he shed from innocent, precious Guides.

Alfred had been sitting on the edge of the wooden desk, not a blood spot stained on his Sentinel uniform with a human mess of bones and flesh coiling on the wine-colored carpeted floor, as the police barged into the office. He smiled grimly at them, recited gradually all the crimes and proofs that the police force needed, and got out of the room not a hair out of place.

No one dared to talk, or provoke him.

The man called Alfred had turned into a Dark Sentinel. A cold madness mixed with unfathomable fury that would tear everyone standing in his way or harming just the nails of his Guides out.

The organization of illegal trafficking had been boned bare and cleared out two day afterward.

"Umh, yes, sir-. There will be a newly trained Sentinel taking part in this Hunt, si-oh, Alfred."

The Sentinel laughed softly at the Guide's struggle over what to call him and shook his head, "Then better keep an eye out for him or her -"

"The Sentinel's a he, sir-"

"Yes, he. We will not let something messy as two Sentinels fighting blood and life over a Guide we had just found like the last Hunt happen again. Even when those two hadn't killed each other yet, the Guide was scared for life and Sentinel Samuel had spent two months in the hospital, freaking out every nurse and doctor coming near him, except for his new-found Guide," The Dark Sentinel let out a growl which was much more like a sigh, and Guide Laurinaitis cringed his nose slightly at the memory and nodded in sympathy.

"So what's the newbie's name?" They stopped at the staircase leading to the ninth floor.

"Tobias Taggart, sir-umh, Alfred."

The Sentinel smiled vaguely, looking amused, but deciding to put the man out of his vocative misery, "I'll keep that name in mind. Now go get your Sentinel Arlovskaya and repair for the hunting group; when I send the signal, we will be off."

The Guide saluted and turned to head for another way, and Alfred suddenly found his lips parting for words, "Hey, Toris."

Guide Laurinaitis stopped, looking back and waiting. "Sir?"

"What do you think of The Hunt, Guide?"

The Guide regarded him quietly for a while, his face softening at whatever he had found while his posture was straight and assuring, "As a Guide, I don't like this hunt, Dark Sentinel sir. Being hunted is never a good thing, and those that are hiding must have their reasons to do so… But I think the hunt's necessary." Guide Laurinaitis exhaled, his shoulders slumped a little.

"But Dark Sentinel sir," The brown haired Guide continued, "there's one thing I've always believed, that's Sentinels and Guides are meant to be together."

* * *

The Dark Sentinel's eyes swept over the city below as he stood at the edge of the top tower of the Tower's head building. He widened the range of his senses, reaching fast and far over every corner of the city for a barrier-down empathic pathway of any unintentionally careless hiding Guide.

Another pair of eyes of his flew over the city's sky, hawking and shadowed by the dark blanket of night. Negligible small dots of bright stars over the dark sky accompanied the many lights of the city like a map so full of symbols, hiding so much potentiality.

His spirit animal, a bald eagle, stretched its wings and scanned through the city for an overview while his senses took care of the details, roaming and searching every street and valley. Finding unbonded Guides was a difficult task, partly because of the natural barrier they had to fence off surrounding emotions. When that mental wall was up, the pathway of Guides would be closed, and Sentinels couldn't be able to sense their presence. But the strength of the barrier depended on individual Guide, some stronger and more steady than others, and that being said, some Guides could not fence themselves off feelings of other people's which always demanded a way to access to Guides' zones. Unbonded Guides were lack of the permanent, sturdy mental boundary that Sentinels supplied. So sooner or later, the protective frontier of Guides' minds wouldn't stand anymore and lead their pathway bared, unsecured to outside world.

Unlike Guides, Sentinels' heightened senses would not be cut out once the Sentinels became active with their gifts – they could only learn how to hold back their senses, how to keep them restrained when not needed, how to control them for the Sentinels' purposes and how to lessen one sense and focus on another. If comparing a Sentinel to a machine, they would be a constantly working one. That made Guide their switch and fuse.

Once a Guide sensed their Sentinel's sensory overload, he or she would use their empathic power to calm down their Sentinel's in-put, providing a bound to part the Sentinel from the source that provoked their senses and balancing the Sentinel's state with their connection and given peaceful emotions from the Guide. If a Sentinel was sent to a zone-out, only Guides, or especially and more effectively, their Guide, could make way into the 'spirit horizon', finding the Sentinel who had been lost in their mind and bringing them back to reality.

That was what the Towers were founded for, to control the Sentinels and Guides' population and train them to work and live with their power. And because Sentinels and Guides' abilities could only reach to the highest potential when they were bonded, the Towers would not let that fact escape their hands.

Therefore The Hunt in and of itself was two sides of a coin – the insistent, natural need of Sentinels for Guides and the serving, controlling purposes of the Towers.

The Dark Sentinel held back his sigh to put a reign over his wandering thoughts. He ignored the alarming signs of his increasingly lost concentration nowadays, when his senses became more and more powerful while he was without an essential hold. He could control his senses just fine, if not he'd gone insane long ago with all those tidal waves of sensory information. But he could feel his grip was loosening, often finding himself pulled into his spirit zone, drowning. Every time he became stronger with his enhancement, his control would be weaker.

Every time he was jerked back from his zone-outs, the hope of seeing his Guide strengthened, and the hollowness would deepen when he found no assuring, needed figure of his own empath by his side.

Sometimes he would abide it, swallowing it into his closed-up throat with an infinite sinking and lost feeling.

Sometimes he went raged, locking himself up in his lab or his house before destroying everything he could get his hands on.

The Tower made certain his things would be repaired and bought back after, as if nothing had happened. Though the concerned, alarmed looks were not easy not to know, and all the banter left him exhausted while the Sentinel in him howled with painful emptiness.

Sometimes he had thought of giving up.

Before he berated and was disgusted at himself for it. It was selfish, irresponsible, cruel and cowardice.

He thought of his Guide, if they did exist, of what they might think about him once they knew what he might have done, that he had given up on them and chosen an escaping exit from all the pains. He felt so ashamed. He felt so angry. So longing and needing.

He would be the oldest unbonded Dark Sentinel in the history.

Every Dark Sentinel, once found, was immediately paired with a matching mate. If they were still young, the bond would just be platonic until both the Guide and the Sentinel came of age. So of course Alfred was tested with Guides after Guides as he was brought to the Tower at the age of eight. But to no avail.

For the Tower had never seen such a powerful Sentinel before, with sensory range so wide and large that no Guides so far could obtain. He'd watched every single Guide gasp and jerk away from his overwhelming senses, not capable to hold them back. Too many that he didn't bother counting any longer.

It was considered as a great shame of the Britannia's Tower, one that the Tower would get rid of with all cost. They couldn't afford to loose their Dark Sentinel and allow the Sentinel clan in Britannia to roam un-ruled and restless for a leader. Therefore The Hunt was pushed into action with more urgency. Not just for any Guides, but spectacularly the Dark Sentinel's Guide.

_Where are you, Guide? _

_(Why are you not answering my call? Why are you hiding from me? _

_Do you not want me?)_

He called out softly through his senses, like every unbonded Sentinel did, every night. Knowing in his call there were others' as well, knowing that every Sentinel and Guide in this city, Londinium, would hear it.

He drove his range to the estuary's way, where several docks resided. The Dark Sentinel had always thought those docks were excellent places for hiding Guides. The noise and the scent would be able to put any Sentinels off guard and overload while Guides disguised and mingled into the tainted crowd without being sensed.

But those to a Dark Sentinel would be no difficult to fence off and eliminate, solely focusing the senses on the true intended target. That was why Dark Sentinels always joined in the hunts.

Alfred reached one of the dock with his senses, observing the ground while banishing the smell of normal people, mud, sea goods and the sea itself, and lessening his hearing range to tiny white noises.

That was when he caught it.

A small empathic pathway of a Guide, who was sending calming mental waves to a pained party.

The Dark Sentinel smiled, Guides and their caring nature.

But he could scent the gun powder on the Guide, and the dried blood and his anxious sweats. Apparently, the Guide was carrying a gun and several knives on him, and considering his blood pressure, the rhythm of his breaths and the tight skin of his muscles, the Guide had had rather a heated fight. That made the Sentinel in him restless, wanting to go right away and check the ruffled Guide up.

That would be soon though.

He fold his senses neatly, not enough to lose the sight of the newly found Guide, yet enough not to alarm him to get away.

The Dark Sentinel sent out his signal.


	4. Chapter 2: Encounter and the chase(s)

**2.**

**Encounter And The Chase(s) **

**(Part 1)**

**Chapter Summary:** It's not only a hunt, it's a chase of secrets, rebellious plans and political scheme. And there is a not-so-proper encounter.

**Author's note:** Update will be on every Thursday. Thank you for all the lovely support and reviews for the first install, they encourage me to write!

**Warning:** Mentioned suicide and mental assault

* * *

Tobias dodged behind a wall as a bullet was sent his way. It was his first hunt ever, along with another six pairs of bonded Sentinels and Guides and the Dark Sentinel himself. Other duty-freed Sentinels and Guides were at the Tower's building, continuing to sense for unregistered Guides and prepare backups if the situation required.

Tobias had been active for just two years; although his activeness came a little late (normally a Sentinel's senses activated from the tender age of eight to fifteen), he was still a youngling to other well-trained Sentinels in the building, not to mention his nineteen-years of age.

A youth from all aspects.

According to Guide Laurinaitis, one of whom were in charge of selecting participants for The Hunts, had explained that there would be one or two unbonded Sentinels at most taking part in hunting to give those young individuals a chance to know of The Hunts' technique and have a real ground to test their abilities. But since the last hunt's happenstance, only one Sentinel could be chosen in order to avoid unnecessary unfortunate circumstances.

So what a surprise when among dozens of other Sentinels in his generation, Tobias was the selected one.

Truth to be told, Tobias was very much thrilled.

There had been pats on the shoulders, quick congratulations and some teasing as Tobias got out of the training ground and followed Guide Laurinaitis to where the hunting group was waiting.

Some of his mates had joked maybe he would be lucky again and got himself a Guide, considering Sentinel Samuel's incident had been quite a legend among unbonded Sentinels in a short time. A few scratches, some bruised skin, broken bones and two-month time of hospital stay were well worth your own Guide, your own other half of the world and your permanent yearning.

To a Sentinel, the beating heart of a Guide, those caring hands and wonderful needed telepathic pathways were most valuable. An existence that they couldn't live without.

Tobias had seen the empty cells that once were prideful Sentinels, the black void that swallowed the eyes, swallowing the mind and ripping the soul, Sentinels that couldn't bear the vacancy of their own Guides, lost forever somewhere in the endless hole, waiting for death to come. Tobias had seen so many in his first training year, still unbalanced-y fresh and new with all the Sentinel concept, when he visited a Special Hospital, the kind which had enough technology and skill to accept treating Sentinels and Guides.

He'd had nightmares for two weeks straight afterward, frightened behind his closed eyelids with the image of his spirit zone collapsing, devoured by a blackness so strong and horrifying, of emptiness snarling it teeth and shedding his soul until there was nothing left of it.

Of him calling out, crawling in desperation for his unknown Guide, for being fulfilled and being saved. But there was no Guides answering him back.

Leaving him willingly let himself be lost and demolished.

And that would be the point where he jerked up from his dream, soaking in horror and sobbing out dry tears with a hollowness and desideration spreading over his flesh and mind like a disease.

Then his second year came and the blow had softened somehow with all the bitter and achingly lonesome familiarity.

He wanted it so badly, the smooth warmth that bonded Sentinels talked about and reveled in, the warmth that made him fluttered and yearning whenever he dreamed about it.

Now chasing after a fleeing Guide, ignoring the vague pull at his senses since the moment he saw the image of the said Guide flashing through his head from the Dark Sentinel's signal and his hammering chests as though maddened bulls, he felt hope – naïve hope, insistent hope – flaring in his heart, that the thoughtless joke of his fellows might become true.

But hopes or jokes or fears were soon shattered and cleared when another shot ran out, quaking the silent, intimidating-y pitch-back air, making hyper senses vibrated and provoking not a few incomprehensible curses from the hunting team.

Sentinel Taggart felt his vessels throbbing with adrenaline and humming flows of blood; he felt grounded, so focus. He was one of the lone wolves in this hunting pack, and it made him bold and restless, muscles coiling and flexing with holdback strength, as if contained water in a dam, so overflow and the dam's wall could only restrain so much. If not for the demanding and formidable presence of the Dark Sentinel keeping Sentinels and Guides at bay, he would, like any ardent unbonded and young Sentinels, bolt up and take the escaping Guide away.

Their group made a sudden turn and cornered the unregistered Guide into a dark valley.

_**Keeping his pathway open, Guides! And shelter for your Guides, Sentinels! Sentinel Taggart, stay close behind, we won't wish to disturb the Guide any more than necessary with another unbonded threat.**_

Tobias obeyed the command sending through his connection from the Dark Sentinel, and watched as the head Sentinel approached the cornered Guide cautiously but surely.

The Guide's face was a mixture of shadow and light, messy with slightly curly dark brown hair matted with sweat and ongoing mental struggle. Tobias knew he was fighting a losing battle with the hitting empathic waves of six well-trained Guides attacking his mind from all directions.

Tobias swallowed hard and heavy, keeping himself under control. He did not understand this whirling and maddening pull in his gut, the Sentinel in him blazing with an unsettled and needing feeling. Another wince was painted on the Guide's face and the hiding empath dropped his empty gun to grip at his head in pain.

"He's down, ready to catch him! And easy, he's hurt."

Tobias found himself frozen in his spot, witnessing the Guide crumple to the dirty and moist ground, his senses ringing with oppressive stillness and silence. Every sound around him was like distant voices he heard under the water surface. All he could hear clearly was the raspy breaths of the captured Guide and his heavily beating heart, feeling the fright and hopelessness dampening the Guide's tight and heated skin.

When other members of the group held the Guide up carefully, the dark haired Guide cracked open his eyes and stared right at Tobias's widened ones.

Everything stopped.

And all he knew of was the burning and intense scream taking whole of his being:

_**Mine.**_

* * *

It shot through Alfred like a piercing arrow, stuck at his enhanced senses and alerting his whole system with a raw burning feeling.

He turned his head from the caught Guide and his half-said instructions, a surprised curse still tangled in his throat, to see Sentinel Taggart rushing at them, the air around him thickened with possessiveness and protecting hormone.

"Sentinel Taggart! KEEP YOURSELF TOGETHER!" The Dark Sentinel howled, startling other occupied Sentinels and Guides with a horrified realization of the situation. The young Sentinel stopped in his track under the commanding and threatening impact of the Dark Sentinel's demand. But his body jerked and coiled with conflict between his aware self and the instinctive Sentinel side. And his eyes blazed hotly with hungry urges and the need to claim.

Dark Sentinel or not, there was no force to stop a Sentinel in the middle of a bonding match. Except from sending him to a forced zone-out. Keeping him out only meant taking his Guide away, giving him chance to label the interrupting parties "enemy". And the Sentinel would fight with all his worth to have his Guide back, even if it cost both sides their death.

The Dark Sentinel frowned reproaching-y at his carelessness, and now if they didn't treat the occurrence carefully, it would lead to inessential violence and chaos.

"Sentinels, hands off the Guide, retreat back slowly. Place him down gently, Guides, and open space for Sentinel Taggart."

When Sentinel Taggart made his way to his newfound Guide in high alert and half-aware mind, they never saw it coming. Taggart's Guide from his lying position, freed from chaining mental waves, bolted up with a knife in hand.

"Look out-" was all the Dark Sentinel could utter before pushing the half-gone Sentinel away from the dangerous path, and feeling pain flaring at his side. He blinked his eyes rapidly to rid of the painful sensation, pulled out the knife without a second thought of hesitation or inevitable blood lost, and turned around, grasping at the Guide's arm in a swift movement and diving a hit at the back of the Guide's head to knock him out flat.

His senses caught on Sentinel Taggart's move before his back bent to dodge a powerful strike to his skull and sidestepped to thrust a knee up at the younger Sentinel's stomach, mindful of his own numbed injury. He grip the young male's head and held him down forcefully while other Sentinels took action and grounded the Sentinel tightly.

"Guides! Invade Sentinel Taggart's connection immediately; send him into his spirit zone before he caused any ruckus. But keep it light, so the kid can come back to us later. The bond can wait," Alfred barked, getting up and pressing his hand against his wound.

The Guides obliged, and it took ten whole minutes before Sentinel Taggart collapsed choking out a sound of deep agony and wanton and rage. Some of the Guides brushed their fingers against the young Sentinel's forehead, surging to him some comfort to lessen his hurting sensation and ease his abrupt zoning, though not enough to awaken him.

The Dark Sentinel clenched his eyes briefly, feeling the pain he had enfolded rack over his being vengefully and using the little blessing calm-downed seconds after the havoc to examine his injury with his senses. Deep but not fatal, marvelously missing any of his organs; and contemplating the lightheaded-ness frosting his gaze and the amount of blood shedding on his hands and staining his uniform, accompanied by the panic looks of the Guides and alerted signals sent by the Sentinels for medical help, Alfred knew he wouldn't feel the solidity of the world around him soon.

How shameful for a Dark Sentinel like him to get in such a situation.

Matthew certainly would have a ton of upcoming nagging and scowling wait for him.

* * *

As if an indifferent party to the hunt that had just occurred, Londinium continued to throb with its nightly lives like it did everyday, embraced by the blackly mysterious and cool arms of the sunless time, where every crack of brick walls, every coldly solid and mixed shapes of architectures, every paved or muddily soiled or nibbled-by-grass street and every hollow sewer and railway built in the belly under the city's ground breathed out something tasted as though the secrets Londinium hid beneath its changed skins.

And somewhere to the south of the heart of Britannia rested one of those many hidden and forgotten truths.

Wandering to Bellator Street, everyone would feel a space that had been once bombarded by the toxic chemical gas and bombs of those flying deadly machines of Hitler's – roaring in the sky as if actualized nightmares – until the street, as any street of Londinium at the time, became a skeleton of hazarded beings, destroyed buildings bared to blackened and crooked frames of steel and grey dark smoke. And they would know of the spark of hope having flared in those war-harassed people, seeing the strength of not giving up and the wonderment of how everything had changed. After two decades post-war, visitors would not believe what the history had said about the Bellator Street and its beautiful, classical architectures' badly dismantled state, or the young generations would not understand fully the far-away and pained looks their elders had when a vivid memory of the prior frantic past strode back in their mind.

There had been marks of bombing explosions and dark deep holes covered and filled with concrete and new structures. There had been screams gradually fading away at the corners of people's head, worn out with time but never less real.

People didn't want to see such a terror again, but they always remembered (and be haunted).

Like how they remembered the two-floored house with old red bricks at the end of the street had constantly been there, how it'd been struck by an explosion one night and had half of its design turn to ruin. And how someone had rebuilt it back to its mundane and easy-to-mingle-in-the-mass glory.

They knew it was now the home of one Dr. Kirkland working at Saint Helen Special Hospital.

Word-saving man, they would say. Rather private, but not unkind and a true gentleman, and they would add with some faint giggles of the ladies in the background.

They would tell the one who asked about Kirkland like they would a well-seen acquaintance. A brief sketch of words about his seemingly vague, unremarkable character and feature.

They didn't know anything more of him, and they didn't pay it much of a thought.

And Dr. Kirkland himself was contented with that, and would go on keeping it safely that way.

* * *

He scrubbed his calloused palms over his tired face and pulled out between his lips an overworked sigh. He stretched slightly on his chair and pushed his reading glass back up the bridge of his nose as an ending sign for his lightning-fast break. He had no time to waste and every second to burn efficiently.

The silence of his lab was quietly interrupted with his scribbling taking-note, the bubbling sound of the boiled substance in a vitro, the occasional fidgets of him using his various tools of experiment and the stretching noise of his desk chair moving around his lab observing his tests and experimental examples.

He grimaced in distaste and frustration at another failed attempt, his hands balling around his pen making the fully written paper underneath crumpled a bit. He leant his back into the chair, patches of light and shadow marring the defined contours of his face in distress as he carded his fingers through his mess of dyed-brown hair, which was originally a sandy golden color before he had to put on his disguise.

The white noise of electricity come from the modest bulb above drove his head jittery and aching, making him hyper-y aware of another failure of his, that the knowledge in him was not enough for this.

He felt helpless and angry in strike, and those negative feelings caused him to be out of his own skin, foreign to his own nature.

Was a Guide supposed to feel that bad? Weren't they supposed to be the creature of safety and warmth and positive-ness?

But he guessed he would never be a normal one.

A normal Guide would never exhaust their brain in a carefully and meticulously structured and hidden lab right behind the walls of their own house to prevent from being discovered, obsessing over a cure for Guides from a deadly genetic sickness starting in the years of war because of the madness of a dead dictator.

In his tired vaporous fury, he went through all of his notes again, vexatious-y looking for any mistake, papers falling to the floor and scattering on the table in a whirring clutter. He scratched out unhesitatingly a wrong equation of chemical amount and fixed some inked mixtures with his pen-point and focus mind.

There was a sudden loud singing voice coming from downstairs, and he stared down at his watch, exhaling wanly at the clock hands that pointed at the hour to prepare himself for his night shift at the hospital. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the muffled radioed lyrics to calm down his nerve and let the imperfect music bring him away from reality to a precipitate quiescence.

He counted exactly to ten, and got up from his seat surely, no nostalgia or indecisiveness. There was no time to waste, every second to burn efficiently.

He took a look around his lab, ensuring it was secure and ignoring the minute tug at his heart – the aspiration for a solid presence who would be the one to do the job of protecting. He clenched his jaw tightly, and swallowed hard, swallowing away every thickening inconsistency inside himself.

He despised these moment of weakness, when the faults and the hurtful and a drop of longing would become too much.

He searched on his working table for a battered, folded-with-care note where laid the puzzle of a formula for a medicine that he had not figured out how to finish yet - a worn out papered thing that held his determination, the urgency of the time and current situations - and tucked it safely in his white coat's pocket, pressed right at his beating heart.

_Please look out for us Guides, Albert._

With that praying whisper he said every day, he exited his lab, checking everything up again, leaving his room and locking it. The music still floated in the house, now clearer and singing the false cover he utilized as a disguise like any outside, formalistic appearances he displayed in his life to misdirect non-the-wiser onlookers.

He made tea for one and an extra cup of coffee with a place of recently heated food for his companion when the man returned late tonight from his mission. Then he went into the living room, where the curtains were drawn but the lights were on with an antique-tic radio automatically pouring out musical notes, everything set up for the illusion of a routine everyone expected the man living here had day-to-day. That he would spend his time after dinner reading, and listening to his favorite song play over and over again on the radio before he had to go to work at his night shifts.

Having finished his tea, he turned off the radio and the lights, stripped out of his white coat for his thicker grey one, and put on his shoes before locking the front door, leaving with his suitcase.

He went into the night, being a doctor no one really knew anything about, Dr. Arthur Kirkland of Saint Helen.

* * *

"Dr. Kirkland, there is a case that needs your special attention," Arthur turned his head from his surveying the large world map in the staff room of the hospital to see Samantha, a nurse at her late twenties with dark hair tied into a neat bun and a face that meant more business than necessarily. But oh, if people spent a little time to look at her sideways, they would see the tender smiles she gave to her patients and utterly honest care she presented for everyone. That in a professionally cold façade rested a softly caring and good soul of a woman.

He nodded slightly to greet her, a barely-there tilt-up plastering at the corner of his mouth, "Ah, yes, let me see the paper and charts." He looked through the clipboard she had handed to him, his brows creasing minutely and he pushing down the anxiety crawling vaporously at the back of his mind.

"The Dark Sentinel?" His brows knitted in a slight frown and he kept his voice light and surprised, willing his body language not to betray him. Samantha tilted her head in her trademark mere millimeters of sensing something but not pressing for it. If for anything, Arthur was grateful for that nature of hers. Never prying, never asking redundant questions. Yet if needed, she would be a maelstrom of stubbornness and knowing that could make the tightest lips open.

But now she just ignored it, whatever she saw in him. Sometimes Arthur got a feeling that she knew, not all (of course, never all), but basically enough. (And something inside him was certain she would never reveal it to anyone.)

"Apparently, they carried out The Hunt tonight without any acknowledgement of the public. And earlier, before your shift, there have been some high-up officials coming and making the hospital and the staffs promise on undercurrent," the nurse explained in her brief voice, locking eyes on Arthur's profile while he felt realization drawn to him.

The organzation's people had failed to announce them about this event, while they themselves were waiting for the Tower's reported movements and unknowingly giving out their necks for hanging. A nauseated feeling twisted in his stomach, he didn't know how many Guides had been captured this night to be brought back under the Tower's rule and sell their freedom for Sentinels' shadow.

It seemed the Tower had real determination of finding hiding Guides now, considering its increasing un-notified hunts and more hawking watch. That made information hard to acknowledge and deliver as the risk was, at the moment, higher. Not to mention the Tower was just the tool for the Government's purposes, and with the power plays and arms races among nations after the Continents War leading to each Government urgently strengthening their own Tower, unregistered Guides were fighting against too large an opposite force.

It was really not good. And they needed a change of plan.

"No one argued over that matter?" He asked conversationally, allowing a little disapproval to seep into his question. Having been working together for over five years, he let Samantha glimpse him as a Guide-Right avid supporter like a large part of the staffs outright was. It was just ironic that they were working right under the roof of the Tower and the Government, two factors they went on strike against and demanded rights to be achieved from.

But because of this fact, the hospital staffs knew for certain what they were fighting for, and the reasons they fought in the first place. It might be the spreading breath of the time, the general realization of the society that pushed their awareness and supportive spirits on line. Yet it could be the conditions they worked with, the many plots they had to cover, the many lies they ignored, the many wrongs they hadn't righted just yet or it could be the many lively and real proofs they'd witnessed in their career.

The doctors and nurses of Saint Helen still hadn't forgotten the sight of Guide Sandburg, a battered remain of once a human, once a happy and capable Guide. She had shrieked as if her mind had literally exploded and her soul bare for the demons to shed. She was all bruised and bloody, clutching in her hands a torn piece of her real Sentinel's clothes. Not the Sentinel the Tower forced her to bond with to maintain a secretive political link.

They never knew what had happened to her, and in the sight of that terrifying terror, they were all silenced to muteness and guilty omission.

She killed herself after a day at the hospital, haunting the staffs with all the lost, painful screams and quiet accusations.

The Tower said her Sentinel sacrificed his life in an oversea mission, and without the presence of him, her sanity couldn't abide it.

But Arthur knew better. The haunted pain coiled in his heart and soul still gripped at his many nightmares and shaking him with a fury so deep that if it left, he wouldn't know what else could make of him.

Because the day when Sophie Sandburg committed her highest sin, Arthur stood and stared frozenly at her focused and horrifyingly vacant eyes in her white washed room.

"I can't stand it anymore," she said with her lips purple and crooked in all directions, as if she had not decided to laugh or cry or scream out the sentence; her once beautiful brown hair flowed free and hazard. He could feel the void of emptiness, the exhaustion and hopelessness devouring her, the hatred and insanity tainting her soul. He tried to send her feelings of calmness despite the risk of capture, but she astonished him by raising her barrier.

She'd used the last of her energy and power to deny the help. He wanted to shout at her, saying empty promises like "It's fine", "We can fix it", "Please put down the barrier", "Please just drop that gun".

And he realized in that moment, in an overwhelming horror and absolute almost blinding rage, that her room was in the farthest part of the hospital, completely isolating and away from the reach of even Sentinel's hyper senses.

If Arthur'd still believed in God, he would have prayed thousands prayers to just stop abruptly this madness and despair.

"Please, Sophie, don't – "

She smiled at him –

"Dr, Kirkland?"

- before letting an iron bullet pierce through her brain.

"Dr. Kirkland?" He jerked out of his memory with a ringing sound of bursting skull in his ears. He looked at Nurse Samantha in a horrific moment of breathlessness and drowning. Arthur didn't know if his face had turned into a shade too pale and eyes a size too wide and haunted. He really hoped not, and reined his emotions in. Calming himself down and blinking away the image of Sophie's eyes.

"Sorry, I wasn't listening," Arthur cleared his throat, hoping it would loosen up, tugging at his thin white overcoat to compose his appearance once more and to resist flashbacks.

Samantha glanced at him in something similar to the worry waving out from her and he didn't want to read her mind to know what she was thinking of him. "What I'm saying is that almost everyone is against it, but with just words and disagreed looks alone can only do so much. After all we are the ones working indirectly for the Tower, and functioned by governmental money and permission. We can only now do at best what little we are able to."

He gave her a grim smile, "Indeed."

* * *

There were Sentinels guarding along the hall of the northern part of the hospital, and Arthur used his own power to wrap a warm, smooth and blank air around him, as if he was just a normal doctor with a professional intention only to check on his assigned patient. His Aunt Helen had taught him about this usage of his telepathic gift, among many other things – outright activating it while misleading and protecting the source. It would cost him a considerate amount of mental strength later, because he didn't have a Sentinel to completely defend for his barrier right now. The protection from his platonic bond with Sentinel Beilschmidt was limited due to the stretch of distance. His safety was in his own hands and deliberation.

"Dr. Arthur Kirkland, assigned specialist, I'll be the one to check on the Dark Sentinel," He showed his pass to the two Sentinels standing before the door that might lead to his most danger and was accepted.

When the door closed, Arthur kept even his sigh of relief a normal exhale, not wishing to raise any suspicion. He turned his head and looked at his patient, his most dread.

Dark Sentinels.

Destructors of every imaginable barriers, bonded or else. The leaders whose voice rumbled with commands and instinctive demand for all Sentinels and Guides' obedience.

He was thankful of the Dark Sentinel's unconsciousness, because he didn't know if he could resist the restless Guide inside him from submission, the insisting tug to care for the hurt Sentinel was bad enough already. He had only encountered Dark Sentinels twice in his life so far, and the weakness of his resistance, the force he put upon his fighting-back will were enough proofs for his warinesss.

Beilschmidt was a Dark Sentinel himself while they got on equitably well, but it was different. For he and Ludwig had known each other in special circumstances long ago, having fought together and become something like family, watching out for and taking care of the other one.

Sometimes in the darkness of his rarely-occupied room, when he let hidden feelings unfolded in his chests, he questioned his own choice of profession (may it be the Guide's nature in him, the nature of caring for others; or may it be the result of what he'd seen in the war, of the wishes that he could do something to help and fix the wronged at the best of his ability), of his own dangerous decision that might lead thing to the worse. He'd gone too deep, and didn't even want to go back and change things.

He didn't regret.

He just feared for the future despite the foreseen promises and opportunities; and continued to fight.

He had kept his identification and even their organization's anonymous (though he doubted that the governmental high-ups hadn't caught eyes and ears of them yet) throughout their rebellious actives, Ludwig representing him as a supporting member in custom meetings, whenever he couldn't make it, despite the initiative distrust of the others. He couldn't blame them either, since a Sentinel, a highest-ranking one at that, appearing in the middle of a planning of a demonstration for Guide Rights was rather out of question, as the Towers' had spies everywhere. There had been surprised and frightened shouts from unregistered Guides and defending ones of normal members, papers messing around and some gunshots. He'd had to step out and explain his intentions and solutions afterward.

It had been strained, very hard-earned, but he'd succeed in persuading them.

And when he'd revealed his nature, they became more welcome even though a bit cautiously. While conviction was infectious, trust was always not an easy matter.

Now it'd been two years since he took part in the organization, and with his devotion, remarkable mind, year-long connections and strangely leading nature (despite his being a Guide), accompanied by his seemingly so ordinary and non-threatening feature – which was a huge advantage in escaping the hunting encirclement of the Government and the Tower, he was voted as the one holding the organization's leadership.

In the last few months, he could taste the rising conjuncture in the horizon, when Rossiland had spread out its influence and allies all over the world after the war with its belief and rights of freedom and equality for not only normal humans but also Sentinels and Guides. Its current conditions, power and capabilities had opened in front of many peoples in the globe a possibilities and reality of a promising society, whose fundamental rights could be achieved and working. Not to mention for all their strengthening policies and grip, the governments of invasive nations' attentions and forces were divided very much due to the revolted uprising of the colonies, which were influenced and encouraged by Rossiland's victory of revolution and aid. Arthur had cryptically traveled and met up with other demonstrating group in foreign countries; and he knew all they must obtain at the moment was high caution and waiting for the opportunity to be ripe.

The unannounced hunt tonight was bad happenstance, but not completely unexpected. (There was no points in mourning for the lost right now; it was for the moment of privacy, when there was no prying eyes and he could allow to let out his naked emotions.) It'd been a high time for the many nurtured inconsistencies going on after a disaster of a war lately. Every forces was watching their enemy, calculating the moves from the other side of the chess broad. It was just a matter of time to decide who was checkmated first.

They really needed to take a step ahead after this. The letter asking for alliance of Rossiland had been sent by Beilschimdt, then he would be on his way to Moscowva, Rossiland's capital, soon.

He, Leading Guide, Doctor, would not fail their plans.

So he braved himself and approached his awaiting patient.

* * *

Alfred opened his eyes, feeling his senses dulled as if a cloud hovered above their ranges, preventing any outside penetration. He blinked slowly, wavering his clouded vision and if not for the annoyingly restrained and silly, frustrated-y dazed feeling covering his fibers, he would gladly enjoy the quietness of undisturbed heightened senses and the intermittent flow of constant sensory information.

He pulled at his senses, as though literally using a hand, wiping them and making them clearer. It still wasn't much, considering the usual amount of painkilling substances the medics applied to Sentinels was higher and stronger than to normal individuals. It helped quiet their senses and protect their vulnerable state from un-sensed disturbance. But they were awful to wake up to, incredibly uncomfortable to feel while conscious. But he was able to take in his surrounding and its occupant to lessen the slightly rising insecurity and paranoia.

He hated it when he was blind to any movements, unhelpful to his easy-to-be-harmed conditions. Like in one moment he was standing on the top and the next falling down endlessly. Once one acknowledged clearly one's capability and power, one felt a great deal when they lost it. Especially when there was nobody to watch that person's back.

He gnashed his teeth, in an effort to clear his senses again and to push away the unaccomplished sensation creeping up at him.

"Stay still, Sentinel, you'll just hurt yourself more," someone told him and with his eyes closed, he thought it must be his assigned doctor. He muffled his groan with a low hiss and cracked his eyes open once more. He caught sight of a head of brown hair and white coat with blurred face. He scented dying chemical in the air with his remainingly dulled olfactory, and reached his fingers unnoticed-y on the mattress to brush pass the coat's layer.

Washed two day ago, well-worn but well-kept, slightly wrinkled - could be a sign of working stress and work-overload, for the one who worn the coat was quite neat to let his clothes crumpled.

It wasn't much, he knew his senses thirsted for more, but at the moment it was almost enough to slowly get back to his sensing. He wouldn't complain. Much.

He noticed the heat from the other person in the room distanced as he stepped away with a silent and rapidly neat move of leather shoes, maybe his fingers had not been as discreet as he thought. He stayed still for a moment, as if berating himself, while focusing his senses again. He listened to the scribbling sound of pen point against paper, the so calm heartbeat of the doctor, the warm flow of his blood, the carefully minute rustling sound of his clothes and smelling his strange dying product, the old, yellowed note in his breast pocket and the smooth and barely-there scent of rose and something else. He didn't need to lean out his fingertips to feel the protecting air surrounding the man.

It was perfect. It was clever and bold. Even he couldn't sense a thing of telepathic pathway.

"Are you a Guide?" He asked in a Sentinel quiet way, as strings stitched together and information clicked, not raising his eyelids. If there was no heavy medicines grounding his body and lowering his senses, he would bolt out of the bed and corner the brave unregistered Guide, whose empathic potentiality was astonishing, more than enough to fool a whole force of Sentinels and working under the clueless Tower's nose.

How merry. How much he wanted to laugh and reproach the daring Guide for his doings.

When he was fully up and sober, they would have a well raged Dark Sentinel.

He heard an intake of sharp breath from the other, but the barrier-like air refusing to let him know anything more than just physical surprise and so well hidden fear. "So brave and clever of you, Guide, to wander in a Sentinel-full territory and take care of a Dark Sentinel," He could feel the blowing telepathic waves striking at his connection, pushing him into a zone-out. He knew his losing battle when he saw it, but resisted, with the pride, anger and true power of a Dark Sentinel.

The mental blows were more consistent now, he could feel his grasp of consciousness was loosening.

"I'll catch you, Guide."

With that last rasp, he was zoned.

* * *

Arthur stood in the complete silence of the room, exhausted and grounded with surprised horror and engulfing fear. But the rational part of his brain remembered to kept on his secure barrier and empathic air. He'd expected for Sentinels and bonded Guides to flood into the room, having him captured.

But he realized then, after minutes passed, the Dark Sentinel hadn't sent any alarming signal to his Sentinels and the Sentinels right outside the door had not recognized the current situation.

He was stunned.

As he looked at the Dark Sentinel he had used a huge part of his mental strength to send into a zone-out, he felt a bitter taste of cruel satisfaction and triumph burn at the tip of his tongue. And he felt played. There were bars beginning to form invisibly around him, like he was being targeted now and would be caught no matter how far he run.

It was worse than truly being captured.

Arthur swallowed, bracing and calming the panic in his ribcage down. He had never seen any Dark Sentinel like the one in front of him.

An unyielding and terrific power.

He took a deep breath and let it out.

The Dark Sentinel had given him time and a way of escape. Playing or not, he would take it.

He held high his head, hardening his shoulders, posture straight. He was like a soldier ready to charge into the harsh battleground. If the Dark Sentinel thought he was what to be expected of every Guide, that Arthur would cower and surrender just simply to him, then the wanker wouldn't be any more wrong. He'd been through worse and well, this would not faze him.

He would have to go to Moscowva sooner than planned.


End file.
